


Leaving Wonderland

by CavannaRose



Series: Rogues Fics [9]
Category: The Flash (Comics), The Flash Rogues - Fandom
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7264138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evan McCulloch has an addiction problem, but one too many trips to Wonderland are making him fear for what's left of his life. Is there no one that can help him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Many on the outside saw the Rogues as this loyal brotherhood of bad men, bonded together by their rivalry with the speedsters of Central City, but it wasn't entirely true. Though there were times it felt like a frat party gone wrong, they were both more, and less than that. This had always been something that Evan McCulloch had struggled with. In a lot of ways, the Rogues were more akin to a dysfunctional family, one he struggled within. He was in that awkward place where he was younger than most of the members, but older than some, like some perpetual middle child. Worse, he was accepted in as a legacy.  
  
He'd taken up the mantle of Mirror Master when the gear was offered him to assist in assassination jobs for his government, overseas and far from here. He had never met Sam Scudder, the man who had invented the clever device, the first to don the hideous green and orange costume, though he'd love to have a few words with the tosser about the colour scheme. Regardless, when he had come to America, first in pursuit of one washed up actor by the name of Buddy Baker, he had found himself sought out out by the man's former team mates. There was a good chance that the Rogues had intended to kick his arse and reclaim their fallen brother's confiscated goods, but instead they had taken him in. The only downside, was the strange moral code they held their members to. Bad guys or not, they had rules, and mostly their rules had good reasons.  
  
Evan could get behind their rule of never hurting women or children. It was, after all, his inability to off Buddy Baker's wife and child just because the man chose to act as the hero Animal Man that had lost him his assassination gig in the first place. The no killing, unless in revenge was harder. Killing was what he was good at, but the Rogues weren't conquerors, they were simple blokes trying to get themselves a piece of the pie. Deaths brought too much attention from the hero types, and stays in Iron Heights prison that didn't end until you were too old to rejoin the group. The rule he had the hardest time sticking to, the one that constantly got his arse handed to him by their leader, and occasionally booted out until he could clean up, was the no drugs rule. They could drink as they wanted, but Captain Cold believed drugs dulled the senses permanently, and he didn't trust addicts to watch his back.  
  
This last rule was why Evan was currently ... between living spaces. He had an unfortunately self-destructive relationship with cocaine that he seemed incapable of beating, no matter how much it fucked up his life. He didn't even know where he was right now. All he knew was he'd sent himself off to Wonderland with a 20 dollar bag of snow, and then wandered aimlessly through an endless string of mirrors, chasing the demons in his own head. Unfortunately, he was coming down now, and hard. His last baggie had been laced with something foreign and it was wreaking havoc on his nervous system. Sweating through his stained t-shirt, brown hair plastered to his forehead, he huddled in a doorway, trying to keep his skin from flying off. The Scotsman tried to call out for help, but it was as if his voice was caught in his throat.  
  
This wasn't rock bottom, he'd been there before and it hadn't saved him from himself, but it was somehow worse. There was a fear in him, that if he couldn't kick this habit, the next person that found him would be encountering a corpse. He pressed tighter against the wooden door, eyes terrified and desperate, pleading with the world to send him someone, anyone, that could help.

Evan's skin felt like it was ready to fly off any second, bloodshot eyes rolling a little wildly in his head as he pressed on his temples in an attempt to keep his brains inside. Every time he tried to kick the habit, things got a little bit worse. He was sweating through the cheap t-shirt he'd thrown on, but shivering like he was freezing to death. Just then the door at his back tried to open, and he made another small sound of pain, more moan than groan.

Turning his face, he looked into the most beautiful, concerned eyes he'd ever seen, peering out from behind the door he was leaning against. “Can you hear me? I might be able to help you, but I need you to try and move a little. I can't get the door to open with you against it.”

She had the voice of an angel, soft and warm. It penetrated the haze left across his brain by the drugs, and he dragged himself away from the door, enough so that his saviour could exit the building he had inadvertently trapped her inside. When the door finally swung open, he raised an open hand to her in supplication, desperation clear on his tormented face. "Please... lassie... please help me."

He struggled even to get that many words out, trapped by the drugs that were fleeing his system and his own unassailable need to seek them out once more. The Rogues were his family. He needed to quit this habit, or he'd be all on his own again. As much as he might claim to desire that... He didn't. Not one little bit.


	2. Chapter 2

The lass, bless her soul a thousand times, looked at Evan for a long moment, options running through her face as plain as print. Still, in the end she made the decision that so very few would have. Propping the door open with a foot, she bent down and tucked her hands under Evan's shoulders, half dragging him, half carrying him to her second floor walk up. Riddled with the effects of his withdrawal, he wasn't much help. She was a strong thing, even though she didn't look like much. She was soft around the middle, but apparently that extra weight hid a fair bit of muscle. 

She leaned Evan against the wall as she moved to unlock her apartment, and he tried to blink away some of the haze from his brain to take her in. Not too tall, round in all the right places... Not one of those stick figures you were always seeing, running about and pretending they weren't adolescent boys. His rescuer was shaped like a woman, like someone he might have tumbled in the heather back home, oh so very long ago. Her blonde hair caught the sun that managed to streak through the filthy hall windows, and he could have sworn the lass glowed... Or maybe that was just the drugs.

Getting them both inside was a bit of a dance for the girl, but she soon had her door locked again and was dragging him through to a tidy little bedroom. He tried his best to catch a good glimpse of the decor, and the exits... and was left with the impression of a reader who worked too many hours to botehr with her place. It was tidy, full of books... but mostly devoid of those little touches women seemed so fond of. Just then his head hit the pillow as she briskly removed his shoes... and his clothes? He tried to protest but she tucked him into the blankets, messing up the hospital-tight corners on the bed. Who made their bed like that? Really?

She vanished, and he tried to roll from the bed, but those infernal blankets had him bound in tighter than a straight jacket. Combined with the drugs leaving his system, it was getting him right claustrophobic. He fought against them, but soon she was back at his side, carefully placing a blue bucket beside the bed. “Please try to use this if you need to throw up." Her voice was soft, full of gentleness and calm. It had been more than a few years since anyone had spoken to McCulloch like that.

She ran a few ice chips over his cracked lips, before sliding a few into his mouth and standing up. "I'll be back in a few minutes, and we can talk.” With that she slid back out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Still, it wasn't made of the stoutest material, and he could hear the soft murmur of her voice through the other side. She was on the phone with someone... For both their sake's he hoped it wasn't the police.

Evan sucked on the ice chips, trying to process everything that had just transpired. The lass was efficient, he'd give her that. He'd barely had time to decipher which way was up, and who he had been speaking to, and now he was tucked all up, snug as a bug.

At least he was beginning to be able to feel his throat, and once the last if the ice was melted, he cleared it a few times, testing out his voice. "Hello? Oi lassie? I b'ain't tryin' tae be a pest, but mayhap we should give tha' bit o' gab a shot afore ye go makin' with the dog an' bones, aye?"

Though there was still a strained quality to his voice, he was happy to hear that it mostly sounded like his own, and less like the decrepit sadsack that had landed on her stoop. He still didn't trust himself to stand though, or much of everything.

Shudders went through his body, the fit rattling his teeth together and tossing the blankets, twisting himself tighter in their embrace until the pressure on his chest was enough to make him panicky. He wasn't claustrophobic, per se, else his particular mode of transport would be a mite tricksy, but he wasn't enjoying the pressure over his lungs either.

He grunted, trying to tear at the blankets with trembling hands, but there was no strength in his grasp, and he batted at them uselessly. A sound of frustration escaped him. He was a MAN damnit! Not some limp-wristed weakling. Bad enough the lassie had dragged him about like a sack of potatoes, then stripped him down to his non-existent knickers, now he couldn't even free himself from this damnable tangle.

"Lass?" He called again, his voice taking on a more strident note. It wasn't panic, definitely not... but he was sweating again and the shakes hadn't subsided. Unable to free himself from the blankets he had to worm his way over to the side of the bed, lank brown locks falling in his face as he vomited bile into the bucket. He hadn't eaten in days, thankfully, but the foamy greenish liquid came up regardless, and burned like a bitch.


End file.
